


Silent Confession

by linndechir



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: After more than a decade together, Jonathan had been trying to get used to the thought of Geoffrey dying one day. The last thing he expected was Geoffrey deciding to use Jonathan's blood to turn himself instead.





	Silent Confession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).

Maybe Jonathan should have guessed that something was going on. But the problem was that even after more than a decade of knowing Geoffrey – of working with him, of sleeping with him on what had been an increasingly regular basis, of sharing something that Jonathan would have been tempted to put into words if he hadn’t been so sure that Geoffrey had no intention of ever talking about it – he still was far from an easy man to read. He could be moody, aloof at times and aggressive at others, he’d trust Jonathan with his life one night and be paranoid about Jonathan suddenly snapping just a week later, and occasionally he was simply distant. It wasn’t that Jonathan didn’t mind, but he had long ago decided to put up with it. Geoffrey McCullum had been one of the few constant presences in his life since he’d been turned, along with Pembroke Hospital, and all together he caused him far less trouble and grief than the hospital did. Putting up with the more unpleasant sides of his personality was altogether still worth it.

At times that meant simply leaving him alone when Geoffrey stayed away for a little while. Often enough he was busy hunting with the Guard and didn’t require (or want) Jonathan’s help, and sometimes he simply needed time to himself. Pushing and prodding him rarely paid off, and so far he’d always come back. Sometimes he broke into Jonathan’s house in the middle of the night, slammed him into the nearest wall and kissed him before Jonathan could ask where he’d been. Sometimes he’d show up at the hospital, bleeding and cursing and putting his fragile mortal body into Jonathan’s hands while he called him a filthy leech and pretended it didn’t arouse him when Jonathan licked his blood off his fingers after patching him up.

So maybe Jonathan should have suspected something, but the truth was that barely seeing Geoffrey for two weeks wasn’t so rare a thing, and just like all the times before, he’d come back, this time in the early evening while Jonathan had been doing some paperwork in his office at the Pembroke. He was a bit less pale than usual, and there was a whiff of wine on his breath, though he was hardly drunk. They had barely talked, and if Geoffrey had been oddly intense when they’d gone to bed, when he’d stared up at Jonathan and held him close while Jonathan fucked him, well, that too happened sometimes. It was almost impossible to get Geoffrey to talk about this thing they shared – calling it an affair felt too sordid after twelve years, but merely imagining Geoffrey’s face if Jonathan ever were to call it a relationship was enough to put him off the idea – but he was hardly as subtle about his thoughts as he liked to believe.

The last thing Jonathan would have expected, lying with his eyes closed on the cot in his office – he’d replaced it with a slightly broader one years ago, not too broad of course, lest Geoffrey felt the need to comment on it – with Geoffrey sprawled out against him, dozing and relaxing and simply enjoying the fact that he had him back, was for Geoffrey to grab a knife from wherever he’d been hiding it, cut a deep gash over Jonathan’s chest, and lick the blood off his skin before Jonathan had time to react.

* * *

The scientist in him wanted to observe what was happening – he’d been through the horror of this transformation himself, but he’d never _seen_ it happen to anyone else, the convulsing, the gradual changing of a human body, breathing and mortal, into something else, something that still didn’t seem scientifically possible. But all he could think about was the blood smeared over Geoffrey’s lips, that disturbingly certain look in his eyes that only lasted until his body started shaking in pain and his lips parted in an agonised whimper. For a moment Jonathan wondered if he could make him cough up the blood again, but he knew it was too late. His blood had barely touched Mary’s lips all these years ago and still turned her, and he had no doubt Geoffrey had swallowed as much of it as he could in that first moment. 

The cut on Jonathan’s chest had already healed by the time Geoffrey sank back down onto the cot, his whole body trembling violently. He didn’t react when Jonathan shook him by the shoulders. 

“What did you do that for?” Jonathan mumbled, even knowing he wouldn’t receive an answer. “Why, why would you do that …”

Geoffrey looked more vulnerable in that moment than Jonathan had ever seen him before, even when he’d been so badly injured Jonathan had almost considered asking his permission to turn him. Shaking as if his body was tearing itself apart, eyes unseeing and wide in pain, moans tearing themselves from his throat that reminded Jonathan of the war, and after endless minutes of that, he passed out. After a moment, Jonathan realised that, worse than that, he was dead – his breathing had stopped, and his pulse was gone when Jonathan touched his neck. He felt like the first time he’d had a patient die in surgery, that inescapable helplessness of watching a man bleed out under his fingers and being unable to stop it, with the difference being that that patient had been a stranger, not a man he’d had by his side, in one way or another, for more than a decade.

Jonathan cradled him in his arms and set out to wait. It could take time, he knew that much, and he wouldn’t let Geoffrey wake alone and frightened and starving the way Jonathan had. He didn’t know if all attempts to turn a human were successful, if Geoffrey would ever wake up at all – if he’d still be himself, or if he’d lose his mind the way Mary had. Jonathan would kill him like he killed her, he owed him that much, but he wasn’t sure he could take it again.

He’d tried to get used to the thought of Geoffrey dying sooner or later. After all it was hard not to think about it. Years ago his mother had passed, on a summer night as beautiful as this one, peacefully in her sleep, and the most surprising thing about it had been Geoffrey showing up at the cemetery for her funeral, standing by Jonathan’s side without a single scathing comment for once, exchanging kind words with Avery afterwards. Avery himself was still up and about, and insisted on working even though Jonathan had repeatedly offered to pay him a comfortable pension for his retirement – but to Jonathan’s eyes he looked older every week, and he knew the last living member of his family wouldn’t be with him for much longer. He’d reconnected a little with a few old friends, as much as he could reconnect with people he was constantly lying to to explain his odd hours, his pallor, his refusal to eat, but the war had aged them all beyond their years, even the ones who’d been lucky enough to escape physical injuries, and it hadn’t taken Jonathan long to realise that some day, everyone he’d known, everyone he’d cared for, would be dead.

Geoffrey among them. His hair had started going grey at the temples a couple of years ago, the lines around his eyes had deepened, making his smile softer and his far more frequent glares more threatening – a man in his line of work didn’t live that long unless he was damned dangerous. He was still fast, and strong, but every injury took longer to heal than the next, every fight sapped more of his strength than the one before. He wasn’t old yet, far from it, but to Jonathan it sometimes felt like he could see him dying in front of his eyes.

Metaphorically, not quite as literally as now.

He stayed with him throughout the whole night, and he stayed awake during the day, as hard as it was to force his mind from drifting into sleep once the sun rose outside. Geoffrey’s body was growing cold in his arms, the blood had dried on his lips. He didn’t wake until the sun set again outside.

A gasping breath more out of habit than actual need, an expression in his eyes that was more animal than human, his body surging up with a strength that Jonathan could only restrain because he’d been prepared for it. He was always going to offer his blood to Geoffrey in that first, mind-numbing moment of hunger, but he didn’t get around to it. Still, he didn’t stop the sharp teeth ripping open his neck, lips pressed against his skin like they’d been a thousand times before and yet nothing like it. Jonathan ran his fingers through Geoffrey’s hair, kept him close and let him drink right until he started to weaken, and he knew he might need his strength to hold Geoffrey down later. He’d fed the night before, some blood preserves the hospital didn’t urgently need, but he would have drunk more if he’d known. If Geoffrey had talked to him like a halfway sensible person instead of _this_, instead of doing what he wanted because he always thought he was right, because even a decade later it clearly hadn’t occurred to him to trust Jonathan and ask for his help. It could be frustrating on the best of days, and maddening on the worse ones.

“Enough,” Jonathan said, his growing anger seeping into his voice, but a part of him simply wanted to know if Geoffrey _could_ stop. If Jonathan wouldn’t have to make him.

It took a few moments, a desperate, greedy moan against his neck while Geoffrey gulped down more blood, but then he tensed, groaned again, and pulled himself away. He looked like a mess, blood-smeared and still naked, but at least that insane hunger was gone from his eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stared down like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done.

“This is disgusting,” he said and sounded like he meant it, and then still licked another drop of blood off his hand. 

“Disgusting and the best thing you’ve ever tasted?” Jonathan tried to keep the relief out of his voice, reminded himself that he still owed McCullum at least a punch in the face. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t take it now.

“Mh-hm,” Geoffrey admitted grudgingly. He licked his lips, not that it made much of a dent in the mess he’d made of himself. “I’m still hungry.”

“You’re talking instead of running down the stairs to eat my patients, so I consider that a success.”

Geoffrey breathed in, as if it had only occurred to him then that they weren’t alone in the world, his nostrils flaring, his lips parting to reveal blood-stained teeth. As sharp as Jonathan’s own, and they looked so wrong on him. Jonathan still remembered it, how overwhelming his senses had been, smelling people’s blood, hearing conversations at the other end of the building. 

“Good Lord,” Geoffrey mumbled and touched the silver cross around his neck. He’d never stopped wearing it around Jonathan – out of mere pettiness, Jonathan had no doubt, but it didn’t seem to bother him even now. But Geoffrey would have plenty of time to get used to new senses later. Jonathan had waited long enough for answers.

“Why?” He grabbed Geoffrey’s chin to make him look at him, to focus on this rather than on the hunger or the overwhelming barrage of smells and sounds. “Why did you do this? You know better than anyone how wrong it can go, and what it’ll cost you even if it doesn’t …”

Not to mention how much Geoffrey despised vampires – and being with Jonathan had never changed that. The disgust in his eyes at Jonathan’s powers, the venom in his voice when he called him a leech. Geoffrey had always been a true believer, raised on his hatred for vampires even more so than on his faith in God, and men like that didn’t stop believing. They wouldn’t know who to be without it. For a man like Geoffrey to turn himself into what he hated most in the world … it seemed unthinkable.

“Why?” Geoffrey repeated as if it was a stupid question to ask, but he didn’t move away from Jonathan’s touch. “I’m – I was getting old. Slow. The last half dozen injuries you sewed together wouldn’t even have happened ten years ago. A few more years and I would have been useless, unless some leech chewed me up before that.”

“You can’t tell me you became the thing you hate most to avoid old age.”

“Priwen is dying,” Geoffrey said sharply. “It’s a new world; despite the war people still believe in technology, not in what they think is superstition. The more successful we are, the less people think we need them. How long would the Guard keep going after my death? And then who would protect people, hm? You? You rarely tear yourself away from your hospital and your laboratories unless I drag you along.”

Geoffrey rose – quickly, stumbling as if his own strength threw him off balance, but when he caught himself, there was a smooth grace in his movements that sent a shiver down Jonathan’s spine. It was beautiful, and he’d only ever seen it in other Ekons, most of whom were the kind of people he’d gladly throw to Geoffrey and his Priwen friends. Jonathan watched him grab the nearest shirt and put it on, not minding that it was Jonathan’s and therefore quite a bit too big on him. He kept watching as Geoffrey crossed the room to wash his face, ready to spring into action if Geoffrey did try to leave. He knew how hard it was for newly turned vampires to control their urges.

“You’ve given your whole life to Priwen, now you’ll give them eternity, too?” Jonathan asked, more softly than before. Geoffrey’s shoulders tensed, and more than anything Jonathan wished he could see his face right now. “You didn’t have to do this. And you certainly shouldn’t have done it like this, without talking to me. You disappear for two weeks without a word, and then you come back for this?”

“I had a few things to take care of first. I was out during the day, mostly.”

Jonathan stared for a moment as the realisation hit him that, of course, Geoffrey had planned this, had probably made sure to indulge in a few more human pleasures as long as he still could. Spend time in the sun, eat and drink, enjoy the company of friends who’d turn their backs on him now. Jonathan didn’t want to know for how long he’d been planning this, keeping it to himself while Jonathan watched his hair go grey and the lines on his face deepen and thought about losing him, about endless decades, centuries without him – 

“I didn’t ask for your _permission_ because you wouldn’t have given it, and it wasn’t your decision to make. And I wasn’t going to let some weak Skal turn me,” Geoffrey went on. “But don’t worry, Reid. You’re not going to be stuck with me for good.” 

“You think that’s my issue with this, having you around for longer?” Jonathan was up and beside him in the blink of an eye. When he took Geoffrey’s shoulder to turn him around, out of habit with a mere fraction of his strength, he couldn’t move him. When he increased the pressure to what would have once broken Geoffrey’s bones, he was slammed back into the nearest wall with a force that dented it a little. They were close enough to kiss, and Geoffrey smelt all different – none of that living warmth, of that blood Jonathan could never get enough of. He barely smelt at all, and if anything he smelt like Jonathan, with so much of Jonathan’s blood coursing through his veins. Jonathan had heard enough about the supposed bond between a vampire and those he’d turned, and even though he’d had no say in it, he felt an odd possessive thrill that he had no doubt Geoffrey would object to if he knew about it.

“I didn’t give you a choice, I don’t expect you to feel responsible for me for now on,” Geoffrey said. His fingers were twitching against Jonathan’s neck, as if he couldn’t quite get used to his strength. Jonathan didn’t blame him; it had taken him weeks to figure out just how far he could push his body. He’d kept discovering new abilities for months and it had taken him at least that long to feel at home in his own skin again.

“I would never forgive myself if I let you hurt anyone, Geoffrey. You certainly wouldn’t forgive me. Until I can be sure you’ve got yourself under control, I am not letting you out of my sight,” Jonathan said. He put his hands on Geoffrey’s arms to keep him from pulling away. His skin was far too cold, smoother than it had ever been, his flesh brimming with power. Jonathan knew he was powerful even by an Ekon’s standards, but he’d never been a fighter before the world had forced him to become one. Geoffrey had never been anything else. If his abilities turned out to be as strong as Jonathan’s, he’d be a force of nature. Maybe that should have scared Jonathan, for others of his kind if not for himself. 

“But after that –” Geoffrey started, like he still didn’t understand. As if years of not talking about their nights together, about all the times they had saved each other’s lives, all the times Geoffrey had offered him his blood to help him heal and pretended that meant anything less than complete and unconditional trust, all the times they’d not only fallen into bed together in something that had often been more anger than passion, but also slept together afterwards, as if there was any other vampire in the world against whose chest Geoffrey would have fallen asleep – as if that had actually convinced him that it all meant nothing as long as he never acknowledged it. To this day Jonathan had never quite managed to figure out if it was loving a man that bothered Geoffrey so much or loving a leech. He wondered if either of those things would become easier for him now.

“After that,” Jonathan interrupted him before he’d have to listen to more of this nonsense, because he was tired of it all, tired of pretending, “you are not going anywhere either. Because I don’t believe you want to. I know you, Geoffrey. No matter how dutiful you are, how devoted to your calling, you wouldn’t have chosen immortality if you’d thought you’d have to spend it alone. You can’t go back to Priwen, you’ve trained them well enough that you couldn’t deceive them.”

Geoffrey looked away at that, and Jonathan almost regretted his words. Almost. On any other night he would have known better, but the simple fact that Geoffrey couldn’t actually storm out right now had made him daring. Or maybe it was the magnitude of what he’d done, of what he’d offered Jonathan without ever saying a word.

“It did make the decision easier,” Geoffrey finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He splayed his hand against Jonathan’s chest, right above the long healed cut he’d made with the knife Jonathan had given him years earlier. One gift among many, all of which they’d both pretended had been merely practical and nothing more, certainly no sign of affection. “Not that anything about it was easy. But I wasn’t going to presume.”

Jonathan couldn’t help it, he laughed at that and kept laughing right through the outraged frown on Geoffrey’s face. 

“You presume to use my blood to turn yourself, without any regard for my feelings or opinions on the matter, but you don’t want to presume that sleeping with you for over twelve years might just mean I enjoy having you around, you prickly impossible man.” Jonathan shook his head in disbelief, grabbed the back of Geoffrey’s neck to pull him closer when he twitched away. “I thought a hundred times about asking _your_ permission to turn you so I wouldn’t have to watch you die. And I didn’t, both because I wouldn’t inflict this on anyone else and because I knew you’d laugh in my face at best. If you think I don’t want this, you’re far more foolish than I ever took you for.”

Surprisingly Geoffrey didn’t bristle for once, didn’t try to leave or change the subject. If anything he stepped closer, though he still didn’t say a word. But he held still when Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair again, those grey strands he wouldn’t have to watch go white. Geoffrey looked older than him these days, like he hadn’t been born almost a decade later than Jonathan, but Jonathan hardly minded. He certainly didn’t want him any less for it, those strong hands and icy blue eyes, and that accent he never would have found attractive in anyone else. When he kissed Geoffrey, his lips still tasted of blood – Jonathan’s blood, the same blood Geoffrey had spent over a decade carefully avoiding every time they’d been together, knowing too well what it’d do to him if it ever touched his lips. 

“You’re going to regret this,” Jonathan whispered into the kiss. Geoffrey had his thumb pressed lightly against Jonathan’s chin, stroked his beard in that weirdly tender way he had that Jonathan knew better than to comment on, even now. “Oh, no doubt you’ll enjoy the powers; you’ll be every vampire’s nightmare. But the hunger, the craving … having to be something you despise so much.”

“I won’t be anything like them,” Geoffrey said, and Jonathan didn’t fail to notice that he hadn’t said _you_. With Geoffrey, it was all in the small things, the things he didn’t say, the brief signs of trust that wouldn’t mean much from any other man. “And you may have forgotten the downsides of being human. I certainly won’t miss the back pain or that twinge in my right knee.”

“And that is of course entirely comparable,” Jonathan said dryly. Geoffrey’s lips twitched into a smile, but it only lasted for a moment before the look in his eyes darkened.

“If I hurt anyone, you’ll kill me. I’m not asking, Reid – I know you will. You wouldn’t let me live like an animal.”

“Have you ever bothered considering what it’d do to me, having to kill you?” Jonathan asked softly. “I didn’t even want to do it when I still thought you were nothing but a fanatical thug, but now … Losing you would be bad enough without having to be the cause of it.”

“It’s crossed my mind.” Geoffrey leant in, kissed the corner of his mouth before his lips brushed over Jonathan’s cheek, down to his jaw, his neck. Feeling his blood underneath his lips, Jonathan knew. Sensing him in all the ways he hadn’t been able to before, mouthing at the same spot he’d bitten earlier. “But I’m too stubborn to lose myself, and you’re too stubborn to let me.”

The length of his body was pressed against Jonathan’s now, almost unpleasantly cold, but after all these years together it still felt so familiar. He ran his fingers over Geoffrey’s back, over scars he’d kissed a hundred times, half of them once held together by Jonathan’s own needle stitches. Every time he’d watched him bleed in recent years, he’d been unable to stop imagining Geoffrey bleeding out, dying right there in his arms. And then he’d imagined simply turning him against his will to save his life, and in those nightmares he’d never been sure if he would be able to do that, knowing that Geoffrey wouldn’t forgive him for it. Condemning them both to spending immortality alone.

Geoffrey’s lips were pressing against his pulse point, but he didn’t bite, somehow managed to keep his hunger in check. And he was hard against Jonathan’s thigh – a strange thought, that, when Jonathan himself had barely even wasted a thought on sex for the first weeks, if not months, after his own transformation. It had seemed like such an inconsequential thing compared to everything else that had been happening, but then of course Jonathan had been alone at the time, not with a man whose bed he’d shared for over a decade. And these days, drinking always made him hard as well, especially when it was Geoffrey’s blood he’d tasted. For the first time Jonathan wondered what Geoffrey would taste like now – still like himself, or almost like Jonathan’s own blood?

“I remember something you told me once,” Geoffrey mumbled, his lips moving against Jonathan’s neck. “That the best way to ignore the hunger is to give in to another craving, something else you want as much as blood.”

“I remember that,” Jonathan said, and remembered the night he’d said it, too – after a long hunt, his body weak and depleted from the fight, the smell of Geoffrey’s blood almost driving him insane. He’d had him against a wall in his office that night, close to where they were standing now, holding him up and fucking him so hard he’d made him bleed while Geoffrey had growled at him not to stop. He’d been so mad with desire in those moments he’d almost forgotten for a little while how much he wanted to rip out Geoffrey’s heart and bury his teeth in it.

He supposed if that worked for Geoffrey, too, then he wouldn’t have so much to worry about. He was already getting used to the odd, cold feeling of Geoffrey’s hands on his sides – Geoffrey had complained about how cold Jonathan felt more than once, but it had clearly not bothered him enough to stop. He was still wearing Jonathan’s shirt, the too long sleeves pooling at his wrists, the soft fabric brushing against Jonathan’s skin. Jonathan had always liked seeing him like that, even if he hadn’t quite wanted to admit to the possessive thrill he felt at the sight, so he wasn’t in a hurry to get him out of it. Instead he slipped his hands underneath it, pressing against the small of Geoffrey’s back, while he kissed his temple, the grey hair he had worried about for so long. His mind was still struggling to catch up with the new reality of not having to lose him, of not having to be alone when the time came. It was an overwhelming thought all by itself, even without considering that Geoffrey had in part at least done this for him, to be with him.

“You do know that after this I will never let you insist again that I’m making more of this than it is,” Jonathan said after a moment. He’d spent too long keeping such things to himself, gnawing on all that infuriating affection he was only ever allowed to show in small fractions to avoid driving him away. Geoffrey groaned against his neck, his hands rough and firm on Jonathan’s hips as he kept him in place.

“This is precisely why I didn’t want to talk to you about this.” His voice was muffled against Jonathan’s neck, but he didn’t seem to be frowning. 

“Oh, you won’t have to. But I might.”

Instead of replying Geoffrey grabbed Jonathan more tightly and, after a brief moment’s hesitation, lifted him with such ease that Jonathan could only cling to him in surprise. Geoffrey had always been strong, but he was also shorter than Jonathan, and before tonight he certainly wouldn’t have been able to lift him like that, pressing him firmly against the wall while Jonathan wrapped his legs around him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, off balance and oddly helpless, but Jonathan found he hardly minded. He briefly wondered what else they’d be able to do now – if Geoffrey would be able to hold him down without needing chains for it, or what it would feel like to fuck him without having to hold back at all, without having to worry about hurting him by accident.

For now he focused on the scratch of Geoffrey’s short beard against the freshly healed skin on his neck, the teasing brush of his cock against Jonathan’s arse – there’d be time enough for everything else. He shuddered lightly when Geoffrey’s teeth grazed his neck again.

“Unless you want to _have_ to carry me, you really shouldn’t bite me again,” Jonathan mumbled against his hair. Losing too much blood wouldn’t actually kill him, but at some point it did weaken him enough to be unpleasant. Certainly enough to make this less enjoyable.

Geoffrey let out a frustrated growl, but he did tear himself away from Jonathan’s neck. Instead he kissed him, hard and hungry, and Jonathan doubted it was an accident when one of his fangs caught on Jonathan’s bottom lip and pierced it. It was a small puncture, barely worth mentioning, but it was enough for a few drops of blood to spill before Geoffrey licked them up, his tongue filling Jonathan’s mouth with the taste of his own blood. There was something almost freeing about sharing that with him, instead of furtively trying to hide his own enjoyment of blood, always too aware of the disdain and disgust in Geoffrey’s eyes, the sneer and the obligatory “leech” even when he was the one to offer his blood in the first place. At least Geoffrey understood just how dizzyingly good it tasted now.

So Jonathan allowed himself to let his fangs graze Geoffrey’s tongue, licked over the small wound to taste him and moaned helplessly as it flooded his senses. It still tasted like Geoffrey, that heady strength that had always drawn Jonathan to him, but a hundred times more intense, more overwhelmingly _him_. And at the same time, there was something like an echo of Jonathan’s own blood in it. He might not have had a say in it, but he’d still _made_ him, and if nothing else that meant a part of Geoffrey would always belong to him.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Geoffrey growled against his lips, his eyes narrowed. If Jonathan hadn’t been holding on to him with arms and legs, he would have flinched back a little.

“Did you –”

“– hear that? Yes.”

Jonathan groaned quietly. It had been so long since his own transformation, that he’d almost forgotten about it, the quiet whispering in his mind, another’s thoughts seeping into his own mind whether he liked it or not. He’d found it horrifying at the time, had felt like he was going insane, and considering how difficult Geoffrey could be, Jonathan hardly cherished the thought of Geoffrey knowing everything he was thinking. About him, and worse, about them and what they shared.

But Geoffrey had always been quite good at ignoring the things between them that he didn’t want to acknowledge, or maybe he’d simply decided to stop complaining about this after what he’d just chosen to do. Either way, instead of arguing he only kissed Jonathan again, maybe as drunk on the taste of their blood as Jonathan was starting to feel.

He still dreaded the consequences of this – having to help Geoffrey to control himself, teaching him to use his powers, convincing him not to use them for another crusade just because he could – but for the time being, Jonathan closed his eyes and allowed himself to be more relieved than concerned.


End file.
